


Rooftops and Vodka

by Megylovessaw



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Drunk Fic, Drunken Kissing, Elves, Explicit Language, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:22:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megylovessaw/pseuds/Megylovessaw
Summary: Íþró wants to relax after a hard day's work, but Lazytown's favourite villain has alcohol





	

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoy writing drunk fics way too much. Whoops. I would also like to give thanks to my friend, Emma, who gives me the best ideas.

Íþró had never really taken the time to appreciate the clear skies in Lazytown before, until the wind stopped rocking his air balloon, and the athletic elf noticed the bright stars weren't hidden behind clouds. 

He steered close enough to the ground to land on the roof of an abandoned factory and simply stood there, taking in the comforting darkness of the night-time and the occasional breeze. There was a faint buzz as one of the nearby street-lights went out; replaced with comfortable ambience of the town. 

Íþróttaálfurinn was beaming at the pleasant feeling of being so high up above the town, knowing everyone was safe and sound in their beds – and as much as he liked helping out the residents and encouraging healthy behaviour, Íþró secretly liked the peace and quiet too. It resonated calmly in him, because he knew that it was also important to take breaks when working so hard. 

He sat down, bringing his knees close to his chest to watch curiously as the stars twinkled above him. 

A sudden crash made the elf leap to his feet in preparation for trouble, every sense going into hero-mode. He sighed, bouncing to the very edge of the roof to tune into the noise, his pointed ears allowing him to distinguish the faint sound of many clinking bottles, and then a disgruntled groan. 

A few buildings down from the one Íþró was currently residing atop, was currently being scaled by someone completely dressed in black, and the hero's immediate thought shot to thief. He bounded as quietly as he could across the rooftops, hoping none of them were homes of the Lazytown residents. 

When he came to the source of the noise, he rolled his eyes at the sight. 

“Glanni,” he began, “What are you doing at such a late hour?”

The latex-clad villain scoffed in disgust at the realisation he was caught by the hero, and slumped into a sitting position. 

“How the hell did you find me?” Glanni said angrily, crossing his arms and pouting like a child. 

Íþróttaálfurinn hadn't seen the notorious criminal, Glanni Glæpur, since his failed attempt at deceiving the town and eventually getting caught for it. He had heard of him previously though, and knew his reputation of escape. He knew that if Glanni could slip away from the more esteemed prisons elsewhere, it would be no trouble breaking free from the ones in Lazytown. 

Afterall Trixie and Stephanie, two children, had managed to escape a jail cell without much attention or effort. Íþró wondered if the mayor needed to be told about that particular issue, and then shook his head to focus back on the situation at hand. 

“Right, yeah, the elf ears,” Glanni realised, taking in a deep sigh and throwing his head back. He was always so dramatic. 

“I just wanted to relax up here on the rooftops whilst it's quiet. Of course, you probably don't understand how to relax because you're always sprinting and jumping everywhere-”

“Actually, that's why I'm up here too,” Íþró interrupted, wondering why on earth he was conversing with the villain rather than taking him straight back to jail. There wasn't much point in doing so, he remembered.

“At least let me chug a bottle before you take me in.”

Glanni removed a bottle of wine from under his arm, and Íþró registered that the amount of alcohol clung close to the villain's chest was the reason for the sound that lead him there. 

Íþróttaálfurinn raised an eyebrow as Glanni began to unscrew the cap, fully prepared to down the entire contents in front of him. 

“That's so unhealthy for you,” Íþró winced, and Glanni simply chuckled in response, red streams of the wine running down his cheeks as he did so. 

The elf sighed contently, deciding to sit down next to the villain and inspect a bottle himself. 

“I'll let you off for the night,” Íþró began, “so you can pace yourself.”

Glanni practically choked, sputtering wine everywhere. He was disgusting. 

“A miracle. The elf can be reasonable.”

Íþró smiled, watching Glanni's anger fade a little as he began to drink slower and stare up widely at the sky. It was amazing to the elf that Glanni would want to simply spend his last free night getting drunk on a roof with him, but Íþróttaálfurinn could never really understand him. 

Glanni Glæpur was a being the sports elf just couldn't seem to comprehend. He was so full of flair and drama, yet reckless and irresponsible. He wasn't even completely sure how Glanni had managed to mount the rooftop with such high platform heeled boots. 

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face when he caught himself staring. Glanni had crossed his legs and was now a mess of lanky limbs and bottles. 

His reflexes were tested as Glanni tossed a bottle his way, and he barely caught it, snapping out of his thoughts. 

“I don't drink,” Íþró said, slowly passing the bottle to Glanni.

Glanni shoved it back in return, “You're making me uncomfortable. It's weird being the only person drinking when you're with someone else.”

Íþróttaálfurinn scrunched up his face at the calorie count on the bottle, and Glanni grunted in annoyance. 

“It's cider. Got a picture of an apple on the front. Not good enough?”

Íþró sighed and leant over to inspect the bottle hoard that Glanni had clumped together between them. He picked up a few to examine them, and then decided that the healthiest one coincidentally looked like water. He unscrewed the cap and took a large gulp, only to have Glanni laugh in his face as he spat it all out again. 

“That's vodka, you idiot,” Glanni giggled, all teeth, “it's a bit much for an alcohol virgin.”

Íþróttaálfurinn's throat burned and it left an unpleasant after-taste. Out of spite, he took another swig, much slower than before. It was the healthiest option Glanni was giving him.

Though it wasn't like he needed to do what Glanni said. He could refuse to drink at all, but Íþró blamed his hero sense of pride to carry on. He didn't like the thought of Glanni having any control over him. 

The third gulp of the vodka wasn't as bad as before, but he knew Glanni could see his discomfort at drinking it. 

Glanni finished his bottle and threw it to the ground, laughing as he heard the smash of glass against the ground. 

“Glanni, you can't just litter like that,” Íþróttaálfurinn said, shocked and mouth dropping open slightly. 

“I don't give a fuck what you think, elf,” Glanni growled at him, throwing down a full bottle, “what are you still doing here? You could've turned me in by now but you haven't. What's your game?”

Íþró could feel his chest surging with rage. He hated whenever someone challenged him, and he hated Glanni. 

“I just want to look at the stars!” Íþró shouted, no longer caring if he woke up the whole damn street, “I didn't ask for a drunk criminal to come bumbling along looking for trouble!”

He could feel his cheeks going rosy red, and he wasn't sure if it was his anger or the vodka getting to him. Perhaps both. 

“I'm not looking for trouble!” Glanni retorted back, snarling, “I just wanted to get drunk and you ruined everything!”

An uncomfortable silence followed, filled with angry panting and drinking. Glanni kept twitching whenever their eyes caught each other, and Íþró focused his attention on the sky. He hadn't realised he had got through half a bottle in irritation, and everything was starting to feel strange, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. He turned to Glanni who was finishing off the second bottle of wine. Instead of tossing it, he placed it back into the pile, and Íþró couldn't help feeling a little smug.

“It's nice,” Glanni said, his gruff voice splitting through the silence, “the night is nice.”

Íþró giggled and Glanni looked offended.

“What?” the taller man snapped, “how are you mocking me, now?”

Íþró shook his head. 

“Nothing,” he smiled, “you're nice.”

Glanni raised an eyebrow, confused. 

“You-” the elf hiccuped, at which point, he knew he was definitely a light-weight for someone of his kind, “you decided not to toss the bottle because you're nice.”

The villain drank more, now onto his third bottle of red wine, and Íþró wondered how he could've got through them so fast. He wondered a lot of things about Glanni. 

“You're wasted,” smiled Glanni, “I can't believe I got the sports elf drunk.”

“I can't believe you have a shred of decency in you,” Íþró shot back, proud of himself. 

There was shared laughter between them, though neither were completely sure the exact source. The elf felt giggly, and Glanni felt giggly watching the elf act so out of character. 

“You're not that bad, you know,” Glanni admitted, the villain's giggle trailing off, “you're not as annoying as I'd originally planned.”

Íþró leaned an arm over to shove him, and Glanni laughed in response. A few bottles rolled off the roof and smashed to the floor, increasing the hilarity of the situation to the two drunks. 

Glanni's genuine smile was something Íþróttaálfurinn would consider beautiful. He stared at him, and then unconsciously at his mouth. Glanni picked up on the look and closed the gap between them, knocking his head harshly against Íþró's to kiss him. 

The kiss was awkward because neither had thought it through too much; full of flailing limbs as the rest of the bottles crashed to the floor. Glanni's big hands eventually cupped the smaller elf's head, whilst Íþró gripped his waist, slipping a little on the material as Glanni shoved him around harder. 

Íþró didn't like Glanni's control again, so he bit Glanni's lip and tasted the grapes on his tongue. The sweetness of the fruit spurred him on to throw off his hat and have Glanni run his hands through his hair.

Íþróttaálfurin took a deep breath, looking down at the drunk mess, and decided that it was probably not a good idea to have started this on a rooftop.


End file.
